


Subject to Interpretation

by static_abyss



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Food, Gen, New York City, love letter to new york
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:45:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2292353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Joan can't seem to stop talking about Moriarty, Moriarty most definitely is sort of, not really, stalking Joan, and Sherlock is endlessly amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subject to Interpretation

**Author's Note:**

> I AM SO FOND OF THIS RIDICULOUS FIC.

Jamie Moriarty is the bane of Joan's existence. They go to the same science campus of New York University, and have had the same classes for the first three years of their college life. Joan knows it's not a coincidence because Moriarty--Joan and her best friend, Sherlock, refuse to give her a first name, and therefore an identity--Moriarty always seems to know Joan's schedule before Joan tells even Sherlock. Joan thinks maybe Moriarty knows a hacker, or is a hacker. 

However she does it, Moriarty likes to spend classes asking Joan questions, or poking Joan in the back until Joan either pays attention to her, or has to move her chair. Even when Joan sits at the very back of the lecture hall, Moriarty finds a way bother her. It's gotten to the point where Joan is almost entirely immune to it all, but she's indignant on principle. And that's not counting the number of times, Joan ends up as Moriarty's partner for presentations. Joan is almost a hundred percent sure that Moriarty bribes the professors.

"She's evil," Sherlock says, when Joan finds out that she and Moriarty share most of their senior classes for the fall semester. "But she probably does know a hacker, and she is, most definitely, bribing the professors."

"She doesn't even need to take social psychology. She's a physics and biochemistry major," Joan says. "What is she doing?"

They're in Sarita's Mac and Cheese, on 12th street, between 1st and 2nd avenues. They walked from the campus on 4th street because if Joan is going to spend another year with Moriarty's endless teasing, she's going to eat as much mac and cheese as she feels like eating.

The little mac and cheese shop is brightly lit, an almost orange glow setting off the lighter yellow pillars and bringing out the yellow hues in the brick walls. Joan and Sherlock are sitting at the tiny table that's pressed against the wall to the left of the entrance and directly in front of the cash register. The table is made for two, but has three chairs around it to maximize space in the tiny restaurant.

It's three in the afternoon and the place is crowded, every seat taken up by tired college kids. Sherlock and Joan had followed the group that's sitting behind Joan at the seats along the window. Sherlock keeps eyeing them, as though he knows who they are, but he doesn't leave his chair.

Joan sighs, "What if she doesn't know a hacker, though?" she asks, watching as one of the girls from behind the register goes to drop off order 42. 

Joan's ticket says 45.

"What if she's just that brilliant?" she finishes. 

Sherlock looks down at Joan, his mouth curved in amusement. "She _is_ brilliant," he says.

Joan gives him an unimpressed look and makes him get up to pay for a water. He gets up, adjust his black pea coat, and leans over the register. Joan can see the minute Sherlock's British accent charms the cashier, and the woman lets her hand linger when she hands Sherlock his change. Joan is already halfway to rolling her eyes when Sherlock sits down again.

"What?" he asks, tucking the receipt into his jacket. "I didn't even _ask_ for her number this time."

"You're supposed to be helping me get away from Moriarty," Joan tells him, dropping her head into her hands.

Her long black hair gets in the way, and she has to look up again to get it out of her mouth. Sherlock smiles, the smug bastard that he is, because his hair has always been too short to get anywhere near his face. Joan frowns at him, but sits up, tucking her high heeled booted feet under her chair and away from him. She's found that the less weapons she has at her disposal to actually hurt Sherlock, the less inclined she is to do it. 

He's like Moriarty in that respect, except Sherlock's learned to toe the line perfectly, never pushing far enough to drive Joan insane. He and Moriarty would make a great couple, objectively. Moriarty has blonde hair and blue eyes that either get bluer or greener depending on what color Moriarty wears. She's shorter than Sherlock too, probably fits right under his chin. They'd be cute, but interesting because they're both British and ridiculously intelligent, and Moriarty is more classically put together--dresses more business casual--while Sherlock has tattoos _everywhere_ and mostly wears jeans and plaid or t-shirts. Joan can see the two of them getting into heated discussions about politics, or current affairs, and it would probably work for them.

"What?" Sherlock asks, breaking Joan out of her thoughts. "You look terrible. Are you coming down with a cold?"

"No," Joan says. "Just thinking about hackers. How much information about me do you think they could get from my laptop?"

Sherlock raises an eyebrow at her, but doesn't get to say anything since their order comes in. For the moment, Joan forgets Moriarty. She looks down at the little, heavy, black pans that the woman sets down in front of her and Sherlock. The pans are sitting on top of circular, wooden blocks to make it easier to pull the hot pan closer and to keep the tables shining. 

Joan got the Mediterranean mac and cheese and she's too focused on watching the way the cheese is still bubbling on the bread crumb and cheese cover to really care about anything else. Sherlock answers a question the woman asks them and Joan murmurs her thanks. She glances at Sherlock's pan, shakes her head. 

"Of course you'd get the Parisienne," Joan says, though really the only way she knows that is because she heard him get it. There's no difference between the roasted cheese cover on her pan and his. 

"You always get Mediterranean," Sherlock counters. "I at least change my order every time we come here."

It's true, but Joan is too busy digging her plastic white fork into the top of the crust to care. The fork goes through easily, and she pulls out a forkful of elbow macaroni, olives, spinach, and goat cheese. It's so good, but then food has never let down Joan. She eats quietly for a while, savoring the taste of olives.

She and Sherlock trade when they're halfway through with their orders, and Joan takes a moment to stare down at the figs, shiitake mushroom, and regular mac and cheese mess that Sherlock's made. 

"Just eat it," he tells her. 

Joan does, swears she's never going to eat anything else again, and sighs; it's delicious.

"You planned this," she accuses, narrowing her eyes at Sherlock, even as they continue eating. "You know how much I like food."

"I have yet to meet anyone who does not enjoy food," Sherlock says. "But you are wrong, as you often are when you judge me. I did not _plan_ this. You were the one who insisted we come here."

"It's just easier to forget she exists if I have good food," Joan says. 

She eats the rest of Sherlock's mac and cheese, pokes at the empty pan when she's done. 

"She's a biochemistry, physics double major," Joan says, and she knows she sounds like a broken record, but she can't stop herself. "How does she have time to meet hackers?"

"She's brilliant," Sherlock answers, not in the least bothered that their topic of conversation hasn't changed since they got here. "We agree that she's brilliant, therefore, she must have the ability to use her time wisely. What I do not understand, however, is why she insists on going about this in such a roundabout way. If she wants to sleep with you, or god forbid, _date_ you, then she should be willing to just ask you. I doubt very much that you'd say no."

"What?" Joan asks.

"I said--"

"No, I know what you said," Joan interrupts. "Just, in general, _what_?"

Sherlock gives her an unimpressed look. "It's quite obvious, Joan," he says. "Marcus and I have a wager as to how long you'll be able to hold out."

"How long did you say?" she asks. 

"Roughly two more months."

"Okay," Joan says, getting up and taking her pan over to the side bar at the counter. "I promise you that if I _do_ sleep with her, and I'm not saying I will."

Sherlock smiles.

"But if I do," Joan goes on, heading for the door now. "I promise it will be _after_ the two months." 

-

Joan doesn't think about Moriarty much for the rest of the week for two reasons. One, she might have developed a bit of an obsession with the restaurants around the apartment she and Sherlock rent. It's on twelfth street and fifth avenue, close enough that Sarita's delivers, but also close to the Asian and Greek restaurants between 3rd and 4th avenues.

She has pineapple rice from the Japanese restaurant next to the Red Mango. It's delicious, with cashews and large chunks of sweet pineapple that are warmed all the way through. Joan orders it with chicken, and the people at the restaurant must love her because they put in red and yellow peppers with very little salt so the rice just tastes like chicken and pineapple. 

The day after that Joan orders the Greek chickpea salad off one of the menus Sherlock's last one night stand brought with her. They send it to Joan in a plastic bowl with a lid, and when Joan opens it she just looks at it for a minute. She is a thousand times more thankful to be living in New York than she was the day before.

The salad is just chickpeas mixed with purple onions, cucumbers, black olives, and green peppers. It smells overwhelmingly like salty brine from the olives, and there's a sprinkling of feta cheese on top. Joan loves feta cheese, loves it even more when she takes a bite. She leaves some of the salad in the fridge for Sherlock and he leaves her hot, already-made coffee on the kitchen counter the next morning.

On Friday, she and Sherlock order shrimp tempura rolls from Cho Cho San, and because it's Friday, they get the edamame potato salad and miso soup. Sherlock opens a bottle of white Barefoot moscato, and they sit down on the living room couch to watch the latest episode of Brooklyn Nine Nine. 

"How is this amusing to you?" he keeps asking. 

Joan shushes him, and takes the potato salad away from him. She steals his fork and focuses on the TV. After three years of living with Sherlock, Joan is an expert at shutting his complaining out. It scares her sometimes, how much Sherlock and Moriarty are alike, but then Sherlock huffs out half a laugh at the TV, and Joan finds it very hard to picture Moriarty doing the same.

Saturday comes around and that is the second reason Joan doesn't think about Moriarty much. Sherlock has a friend, Mary, in his tiny room, and Joan is in the living room with headphones on because she has two chapters to read for her Social Psychology class on Monday. This and her Research in Psychology class are the last two classes she needs to finish her psychology major. It leaves Joan's spring semester free so she can finish up the last three classes she needs to complete her biochemistry major. 

Joan's Women in Science advisor at NYU keeps telling Joan that she needs to take it easy, but Joan likes the work. She loves the surprised look on people's faces when she tells them that she's a double major in biochemistry and psychology. It makes her feel proud of herself, so she keeps at it even if it takes a few extra hours.

Sherlock is much better at juggling two majors, but he's a psychology and math double major with an unfairly high IQ. Him and Moriarty, really, because Moriarty is also in the WINS program as a double major, but she's so smart it's scary. Moriarty's first major is biochemistry, but she's also majoring in physics, which is just so far above Joan's head that she'd rather not think about it. The two of them, Sherlock and Moriarty, just disgust Joan with how perfect they are for each other sometimes. 

Joan frowns down at her book, trying to refocus when Sherlock comes out of his room. A second later, the fire alarm starts blaring.

"I may have started a small fire in my room," he says.

Joan just shakes her head and gets up. She slides into the coat Sherlock is holding out for her, holds the door open for Sherlock and Mary, and follows them. 

She wishes she could say it was the first time that something like this happened, but it isn't. There was a time in their freshman year when Sherlock wanted to try pot and got so high, he forgot to smoke out the window. No one found the pot, and Sherlock and Joan both swore up and down it was just cigarette smoke when the firefighters and police officers showed up.

They've also had the police over a few times, when Sherlock got too loud with whatever experiments he was supposedly working on. It baffled Joan how Sherlock refused to major in any physical science when he was so interested in it anyway.

"I don't like the idea of being constrained by syllabi and school regulation," Sherlock always says.

"Or health codes," Joan will answer.

It hadn't been a problem until they'd had to explain to Officer Gregson why there was a bloody heart on their living room floor and a blowtorch in Sherlock's hands. Officer Gregson knew them by now, and though Joan did her best to make sure Sherlock didn't burn down the entire apartment building, there was very little she could do when he had other people encouraging him.

Officer Gregson is, of course, the one to show up along with two firetrucks this time. He takes one look at Sherlock, shakes his head sympathetically in Joan's direction, and goes to talk to the landlord. 

"Why?" Joan asks.

Sherlock shrugs.

Mary, the tall leggy blonde, with beautiful hazel eyes, who Joan is pretty sure shares her biochemistry class, grins. "I dared him to set the skull he has in there on fire without setting off the fire alarms. We bet fifty dollar and I won."

Joan can't bring herself to be mad. She just smiles back at Mary's happy grin. Sherlock watches them, amused for a second, before he clears his throat, pulls out his wallet, and starts putting tens into Mary's outstretched hand.

"That should cover it," Sherlock says, pauses, and pulls out an extra ten. "And that's for being right about Joan."

Mary grins. "Great. Well, I have to meet my girlfriend for lunch," she says, glancing at her watch. "I'll see you around."

Joan watches her walk away. "What _about_ me?" she asks Sherlock.

Mary stops before she gets too far, turns around, "Make sure you apologize, Sherlock. Joan's too nice to you." To Joan she says. "It was nice meeting you."

"Likewise," Joan answers.

She and Sherlock stand in the sidewalk with the rest of the tenants, watching Mary cross the street. 

"Who was that?" Joan asks.

"Mary Morstan," Sherlock says. "She has biochemistry with you and Moriarty. She's a friend of Marcus."

"She seems nice," Joan says. "What did she says about me?"

Sherlock smirks. "She said she would make it so that you wouldn't be mad at me about the fire."

"Excuse me?" Joan asks, raising an eyebrow. 

"She also considers you one of the smartest people she's never spoken to. She was very eager to meet you, though I suppose starting a fire was not the best way to make that happen."

"Just be quiet for a second," Joan says, shaking her head. "I need to make sure that Officer Gregson isn't going to arrest you for arson."

"Arrest _us_ , Joan. Your name is on the lease."

"Oh no, if anyone wants to press charges, I'm letting Officer Gregson have you."

Sherlock gives her a wounded expression, but Joan isn't impressed. She's even less impressed when she finally does talk to Officer Gregson.

"The landlord wants you out of the apartment by the end of the month," he says.

"What?" Joan asks, shocked. 

"I'm sorry," Officer Gregson says. "There's nothing I can do. The lease you signed says he reserves the right to kick you out of the place, if he thinks you or Sherlock pose a danger to the other tenants, and frankly, I think starting fires constitutes as dangerous."

"I understand," Joan says.

Officer Gregson gives her shoulder a brief squeeze in sympathy, then heads over to let everyone else know they can go back inside. Joan stands on the sidewalk in her sweatpants and gray pea coat.

"Okay," she says, when Sherlock comes to stand next to her. " _Now_ , I'm angry."

-

Sherlock buys her Papa John's pizza as an apology. He gets three medium pies, invites Marcus over and makes him bring all the recorded Mets games he owns. Joan isn't ready to forgive Sherlock, but then the pizza comes and there are three hot pizza pies on their soon-to-be-someone-else's coffee table.

Sherlock's ordered one pie specifically for Joan. It's the one in the middle with the tomato slices and jalapenos on one half of the pie and green peppers and olives on the other. The pizza comes with two banana peppers and a garlic sauce that smells like melted butter. 

"I still haven't forgiven you," Joan says, but she takes a slice of pizza and sits down on the couch anyway.

Marcus takes her right side and Sherlock sits on her left. They don't watch the old Mets games because they're depressing and it's a Saturday, which means weekend movies. They watch the first Harry Potter movie and Sherlock doesn't say a word during the entire movie. 

They fight over whose pizza is whose and Joan wins because she always does, obviously. She has the ham and pineapple that Marcus likes and a slice from the mushroom and chicken that Sherlock ordered. Halfway into the second Harry Potter movie, Joan gets Sherlock's bottle of Roscato, sweet red. 

The color is beautiful, dark red that's almost black when it's in the wine glasses, but brilliant red when the light catches the wine. It's sweeter than the red wines Sherlock and Joan are used to drinking, but the sweetness is good with the pizza. 

There's also a beautiful pumpkin spice cake in the fridge that Marcus picked up from Magnolia's bakery, near his apartment on Bleecker street. It's Joan's favorite, with dried cranberries and toasted walnuts baked into the cake. The caramel cream cheese icing isn't too sweet, and it's so good Joan considers forgiving Sherlock. 

The three of them end up having a couple of beers that have been sitting in Joan and Sherlock's fridge for more than a month now. They're still pretty good, and by the time anyone thinks to move from the couch, it's four in the morning. Marcus has ended up with his head on Joan's shoulder, and Sherlock has his legs hanging over the arm of the couch, his head on Joan's lap. 

They don't move, because it's four in the morning and Joan and Sherlock have to find a new apartment before the month is over. It's much easier to lean back against the couch cushions and let the TV run the early morning shows. 

At five in the morning, Joan gets a text from Moriarty. 

_Heard from Mary about your apartment. I hope Sherlock didn't wreck anything important_.

It figures, Joan thinks, that Moriarty would know Mary. But it's a nice text, and Joan is nothing if not polite to those who are polite to her. 

_Thanks_ , she writes. _Nothing damaged, thank god. We don't have the money to pay off damages to the apartment._

_You're awake?_

Joan frowns. _So are you,_ she texts back.

_Yes, but I am a TA for Biochemistry. I have papers to grade._

Joan rolls her eyes, texts back to ask what professor would possibly trust his or her TA with grading papers. They text back and forth for a while, discussing the merits of having a TA grade the less important papers that the professor needs just to meet the workload requirement. They're pointless summaries of scientific articles that will probably never appear on the test but are still somewhat pertinent to the lecture of the day. Joan would know, she had to grade papers all of spring semester when she was a TA for her abnormal psychology professor. 

It's six in the morning when Joan's legs start to fall asleep, so she wishes Moriarty a good night and wakes Sherlock. Marcus ends up on their couch, because he's shorter than Sherlock and won't hang off on either end. Joan throws an extra blanket over him and wishes him good night on her way to bed.

Sherlock is waiting for her in front of his room. "I apologize for yesterday," he says. "And I promise to find us a new place to live. Somewhere bigger, with more room."

"Yes," Joan says. "You _will_ find us a new place, and it _will_ be better than this one."

But she smiles as she goes into her room, and Sherlock nods at her before closing his door.

-

Despite Joan's misgivings, Sherlock _does_ concentrate fully on looking for a new place. He starts by researching prices in different neighborhoods and debating whether they're better off buying a place or renting one. Joan tells him that she doesn't care either way since she's not planning to go back home after she graduates. Sherlock says he knew that and that he was just being polite. 

While Sherlock looks for potential places for them to live, Joan finishes up her readings for Monday. She reads ahead in the social psychology book, fascinated by how simple suggestion can have such a great impact on individual behavior. 

On Monday, Joan's social psychology professor gives them their first group assignment and Joan gets paired with Moriarty. This time Joan knows it's not Moriarty's fault because the professor is very clearly pairing off the first half of the class with the second half, and Joan is the very last name on the second half of the class list, while Moriarty is the last name on the first half of the class list. It doesn't stop Joan from raising her eyes at the ceiling as Moriarty slides her chair closer to Joan.

"Hello, Joan," she says, smiling. "How are you?"

"Has anyone told you how creepy that smile is?" Joan asks. 

"What?" Moriarty asks. "Afraid I'm going to bite?"

"No," Joan says, trying not to seem like she's easing her chair away from Moriarty. "You just have personal space issues, and you look like you're planning my murder."

"Please," Moriarty laughs. "As if I would waste my time planning your murder when I could be working on perfecting light invisibility."

"Oh, is that a physics thing?" Joan asks, knowing very well what Moriarty is talking about. "Or are those just words you threw together to impress me?"

"You think I'm trying to impress you?" Moriarty asks, grinning. 

Joan tilts her head towards Moriarty and gives her an unimpressed look. "Obviously," Joan says. 

Moriarty smiles slowly, her eyes running over Joan's face. "Yes," she says. "Perhaps, I am."

Joan raises her eyebrows at Moriarty, leans back in her chair, and pulls out her notebook. In front of the lecture hall, the professor is plugging his laptop to the projector. 

"Please do pick something interesting for our project," Moriarty says, leaning over into Joan's desk space. "I don't like to be bored."

"It's a group project," Joan reminds her. 

"Yes, so do make sure to carry your weight."

"Why is it so hard for you to be a human being in person?" Joan sighs. 

Moriarty smirks at her, her blue eyes tinged with amusement. "Ordinary human beings are so very boring, Joan," she says. "Besides, you wouldn't like me as much if I was predictable all the time."

"You're wrong," Joan tells her. "There's nothing wrong with predictability. I like predictability."

"Liar," Moriarty says, knowingly. "Predictability is boring."

"Are you calling me a liar?" Joan asks, raising her eyebrows. "That's rude."

"I sincerely apologize," Moriarty says, but the smile on her face says otherwise. "I would never dream of being rude to you, Joan."

Joan takes a deep breath, and turns back to the front of the class. She manages to ignore Moriarty's stares throughout the entire class, and even gets a group of friends between her and Moriarty on the way out. All in all, it isn't a bad day.


End file.
